


Dumplings Over Flowers

by EvieFuller



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Domestic Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Sibling Redemption, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Royal Squad Dream Team, Worldbuilding, Zuko and Azula Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24883087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieFuller/pseuds/EvieFuller
Summary: Ozai recognized Zuko’s potential early. That changed everything and nothing at all.Featuring a more subtly abusive Ozai, co-dependent Zuko & Azula, and general badassery.
Comments: 57
Kudos: 291





	1. Part One: A Useful Son

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a WIP. I have the first 4 chapters written, and I will be updating once a week until they are all posted. After that point, I freely admit that updates will most likely be sporadic.

Prince Ozai snarled as he shoved back from his desk. Tottori Province was filled with _idiots_. What were those morons thinking raiding their own colony! And for moon-peaches of all useless things! 

Fruit. That’s what this madness mocking him in the form of several large stacks of reports had been started over. Minister Mitsuo even had the audacity to imply it was the crown’s fault this stupid conflict had escalated. He was the chief idiot, Ozai decided, and the prince was going to ruin him. He was going to figure out what the man cared about most, and he would destroy it. 

His wife? Ozai could engineer an infidelity or a death. 

His children? Mitsuo could weep as they were sent to the front lines. 

Money, power, status? The fool could kiss his chances for all three goodbye. 

A knock at the door cut off his internal rant, and Ozai turned to bid whoever it was enter his office. A young royal courier stepped in, a scroll clenched in his lightly trembling fist. He strode forward and tripped on the golden edge of the rug, then scrambled into a kneeling position and held out the parchment. 

Ozai sneered at the pathetic display and snatched the message out of the courier’s hand, fighting the urge to roll his eyes when the teen flinched back. 

It was from his father demanding his presence in one hour for an update on the Tottori conflict.

“You may go,” Ozai dismissed the boy, face carefully blank until he was alone, then he released his irritation with a sharp breath of fire. 

It did not help. 

They’d only gotten news of the issue today. He’d had less than four hours to mull his way through the intelligence, and already his father wanted an update, like some of this could have already been solved. It was always that way though, wasn’t it? His older brother could waste hours hunting for the perfect jasmine blend and the Fire Lord would ask Iroh to share the brew with a smile. If Ozai didn’t make inhumanly fast progress on every task placed before him, Fire Lord Azulon would start breathing down his neck like he suspected incompetence or treachery behind every wasted minute, that is if his work didn’t simply go completely unacknowledged. 

Not that Azulon was wrong to think Ozai might be plotting something, but still. 

Ozai breathed deeply, one, two, three times. But each inhale only stoked the fire bubbling in his chest. With a growl he flung a blast at the mostly empty cabinet in the corner of his office, perfectly happy to sacrifice a few spare robes to his anger. 

A yelp rang out as the fireball engulfed the piece of furniture, and a little body came tumbling out, small hands batting at the sparks dancing over black sleeves. Shock cooled Ozai’s temper better than any amount of firebending could have. 

He strode over to pull the boy to his feet, a quick scan assuring him his son was unburnt. “Zuko? What are you doing here?”

Pale gold eyes peered up at him nervously. “Father! I was just, um…we were playing a game…hide and explode…and I, uh…”

Ozai narrowed his eyes. “How long have you been in here?”

“J-just a couple minutes,” Zuko mumbled, dropping his head down to stare intently at the golden scrollwork stitched along the edge of the office’s red carpet. 

Ozai looked around the room contemplatively. There was only one set of doors, on the other side of which four guards were stationed at all hours of the day. One large window looked down into a courtyard two stories below, which also contained four guards charged with protecting the palace from nefarious activity. And for all Zuko’s royal status, the seven-year-old was definitely not allowed in state offices: no guard would have granted him entrance. 

“And how did you get in?”

Zuko darted a glance up, biting his lip for a second before pointing at the window and saying softly, “I climbed down from the roof.” 

“Without any of the guards spotting you?” 

The boy fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Yes sir,” he almost whispered. 

“And I was already in here?”

Zuko seemed to shrink in on himself even more, but he still looked back up, and he didn’t break eye contact once it was established. “Yes sir.”

“So you hid away in that cabinet,” Ozai pointed at the still smoldering piece of furniture, “without alerting me?”

“Yes sir.”

Ozai moved to sit back down and drummed his fingers on his desk, the rhythmic _thunk thunk thunk_ a soundtrack for his racing thoughts. “How is your firebending coming along? Which kata are you working on now?”

Zuko stared at him with wide, shining eyes, his mouth open in a little ‘O’ of surprise. Then he swallowed and leaned forward slightly, simultaneously eager and apprehensive. “Pierce the Heart.”

Ozai nodded slowly. 

“I could show you?” Zuko offered. His father waved him off, so the boy continued to stand there, anxiously wringing his hands. 

Pierce the Heart, that was slightly ahead of the curve for a seven-year-old, but it was the same form Azula was working on. A prodigy firebender his son was not, not like his little sister. But he wasn’t terrible, and more importantly, Ozai knew trained assassins who would not have been able to sneak past the guards into this part of the palace, let alone his office. It seemed his son might be a prodigy at _something_ , even if it was an unconventional talent for royalty. 

However unorthodox it may be, though, the third in line for the throne was not in the habit of snubbing useful skills. 

Zuko would need weapons training, something more understated than firebending, something that he could use covertly. Ozai would send the boy to Master Piandao. Swords and knives were weapons of the night, though he couldn’t let any child of Sozin’s line neglect his firebending training either. He would have to send a tutor to accompany his son. 

It wouldn’t be the flash of Azula’s bending, but perhaps that was for the best. This had the potential to be _useful_. Complimentary talents would make his children a much more deadly team. Yes, Ozai nodded to himself as plans started piecing together in his mind, he would make Zuko the smoke to Azula’s flame. 

Zuko watched as his father finally turned to look at him again. The man smiled, and Zuko did _not_ flinch…even if his heart did skip a beat.


	2. 2

Zuko quietly slipped down the darkened hallway of General Sato’s Royal Caldera City townhouse, his heart speeding along a mile a minute. The security here was minuscule compared to the palace, but he wasn’t supposed to be _here_. If he was caught, there would be a huge scandal, and Father wouldn’t get the blackmail material he wanted (and he would be angry and disappointed and think Zuko was a failure). 

He peeked through open doorways as he moved along, taking in the richly furnished rooms. Again, nowhere near as fine as the majesty of the Imperial Palace, but nothing to scoff at either. Most of the walls were covered in fine silk wallpapers. The floors were either marble or hardwood rather than the cheaper (and more flammable) bamboo of most homes. Porcelain accoutrements adorned nearly every expensive table and bookshelf like a shout to the world announcing General Sato’s success.

Zuko, with all the good taste granted ten-year-old princes, decided it looked gaudy. And the pale green tapestries were patently unpatriotic. Mountain-plum blossoms and octopus-sharks? Where were the dragons and sunsets and stars? The general could’ve at least had the decency to pick a fire lily instead of some winter flower. 

Zuko tried every door in the long hallway, easily twisting handles to peer into one richly decorated sitting room after another until finally, he tried one that was locked. As with the other closed doors, he waited silently, listening for any movement on the other side before even trying the handle. A grin spread over his lips when he found this one barred, a rush of triumph tingling down his limbs, and he pulled out several thin metal instruments from the small satchel tied to his belt. A few deft jiggles later and the tumblers were falling into place, the door swinging open on silent hinges. A quick glance around confirmed this was the master’s office. 

Zuko allowed himself a brief, victorious fist pump before hurrying forward. 

He didn’t bother going through any of the documents lining the bookshelves and piled on the desk, nor did he dive immediately for the desk drawers, locked or otherwise. Father wanted confirmation that General Sato was profiting from the sale of Fire Nation prisoners of war into slavery in the Earth Kingdom, which was, of course, highly illegal. (One of the best arguments Zuko had ever heard for why the Fire Nation needed to conquer the other kingdoms: _His_ country hadn’t tolerated such barbaric practices in centuries!).

Sifu Hanzo had made him practice finding hundreds of secret compartments this month, and Zuko was excited to put this skill to use in real life. He started feeling around the desk with eager fingers, looking for an out-of-place notch or seam. A Fire Nation general would definitely have a cool hidden drawer somewhere to conceal the evidence of his wrongdoings!

Twenty minutes later Zuko was starting to doubt this assumption. He’d searched all over the massive desk. He’d climbed to the very top of the bookcases and carefully run his fingers along every inch of the ebony chest situated in front of the office’s seating area. Every mother-of-pearl box and jade vase had been poked. Even the ivory _candle lamps_ had gotten a brief examination. 

Zuko bit his lip as nerves started to make his hands shake. This was taking too long, and maybe the information wasn’t even kept in this office. It could be somewhere else in the house, or at one of Sato’s properties far away from Royal Caldera City, or hidden away in a warehouse in Lower Caldera City, or…

Zuko took a deep breath and glanced back at the cluttered desk. Surely the general was sneakier than that, but he still had to check. And maybe when that didn’t pan out, Zuko could check for loose wall fabric? 

The clutter on the desk, upon closer inspection, wasn’t so cluttered, and appeared to be mostly inconsequential personal correspondence. There were a lot of letters from some woman named Aiya locked in the top drawer on the left who wrote with a beautiful, feminine hand. But reading through the letters left Zuko feeling disturbed and vaguely nauseous.

> _I wrote poems inside of her  
>  with my fingers.  
>  Our story began  
>  with her scream.  
>  And ended with her soul  
>  on my lips. —AA_
> 
> _I read this today and thought of you, my love. Oh, how you tortured me that night! How I long for your swift return, for your fingers pulling at my hair, my back arching as I cry out for you!_

Zuko set that one aside without finishing it, but a quick scan showed that all of Aiya’s letters were filled with similar violent language. No wonder Father believed this general could be involved with the slave trade! Uncle Iroh had told him once that some people liked causing others pain for no reason, but Zuko hadn’t realized there were people out there who _wanted_ to be hurt. This lady was clearly sick in the head.

Most of the other drawers were unlocked until Zuko got to the last one on the bottom right. Another few seconds of easy lock picking and the young prince finally hit gold. Hidden beneath a false bottom in the drawer was a map with a series of markers in red and purple drawn on it, which Zuko made sure to quickly memorize before he set it aside. (He was thankful now that both Sifu Hanzo and Sifu Piandao had been adamant he be able to take in and remember notations on a map at a glance). 

Then he started sifting through the other papers located in the compartment. There were several thick rolls of accounting ledgers listing dates and numbers of _cargo_ sold. Zuko would not have been sure this related to the slave trade if not for one notation which ran through a cost-benefit analysis of giving said cargo medical attention for green fever, a human disease his tutors had just taught him about last week thanks to a recent outbreak in the infantry. Understanding cost-benefit reports was important for royalty, they had insisted—even if the context of his lessons was different—but the large numbers here (so many zeros!) left Zuko feeling physically ill. 

Gritting his teeth, he carefully copied down the last two month’s worth of transactions as well as that incriminating cost-benefit analysis, a process made difficult by the limited moonlight shining down on the pages through the office’s single window. He rifled through the rest of the documents, looking for anything that might be useful for his Father. There were a couple of signed letters, so he noted down the names of the senders and their locations, but other than that, Zuko didn’t have the education necessary to understand the rest. 

In any case, he’d found the confirmation his dad needed, and he’d spent too long here as it was. Zuko stuffed everything back in the drawer mostly the way he’d found it, and locked it back up. The office door was similarly re-locked once he exited, and then the prince was escaping the townhouse as unobserved as he’d been entering it in the first place. 

It took him nearly two hours to make it safely back to his family’s quarters in the palace, the need to dodge around both the city’s night watch as well as the imperial guards stationed near the top-secret volcanic tunnel which led to the royal library—the one known only to members of the royal family—significantly slowing his progress. 

Azula was the only one waiting up for him when he plodded into his room. Well, waiting up was a bit of a stretch. The little eight-year-old princess was sprawled out across his bed. Sideways, of course, so he couldn’t even crawl under the covers properly without waking her up first. 

But, Zuko assured himself, he was a master of stealth. He’d just completed his very first assignment for his dad without a single person noticing him. He could sneak into his own bed without disturbing his baby sister! 

He shifted the blankets back slowly, inch by inch, then carefully stepped up, one knee on the mattress and… 

“Zuzu? That you?” 

The prince froze, suspended halfway on the bed. Azula rolled over to peer up at him with sleepy amber eyes, and he sighed in defeat. Hopping onto the bed, he wiggled under the silk-soft sheets, his limbs almost instantly going heavy with exhaustion. “Yeah Lala, it’s me. Go back to sleep.”

She blinked at him. “Oh…Thought maybe they got you…You were so slow,” she mumbled, slapping his stomach far too roughly for a mostly-asleep child before snuggling up next to him and dropping back off an instant later. 

Zuko grumbled that he had not been slow, but she wasn’t awake to listen to him and he followed her into sleep a few seconds later.

+++

Dawn bloomed with a rush of sizzling energy that pulled both children into the waking world—Zuko much more reluctantly than Azula, who had gotten a full night’s rest. 

“Alright Dum-Dum, what took you so long last night?” she demanded, bouncing obnoxiously by his head. 

“I was not slow!” Zuko groaned, tossing his arm over his head in an attempt to block out the rising sunlight even if he couldn’t stop its energy from affecting his body. 

Azula cast him an exaggerated don’t-kid-yourself look, the kind that only worked for cute children. Zuko spotted it when she yanked his arm off his face and he sighed, pretending to be more annoyed than he really was. He’d been eager to brag about his super-secret mission since before he’d ventured out last night. 

They rang for their servants to bring them breakfast, then impatiently waited for the table to be set. Once they’d been served and were alone again on Zuko’s patio, he regaled her with his story, going into excruciating detail about every peace officer and palace guard he’d slipped past. He told her about the false bottom in the general’s desk drawer—leaving out his thoughts on the man’s stupidity for hiding anything important there—and about the green tapestries depicting mountain-plum blossoms and octopus-sharks. 

Azula was equally offended by Zuko’s descriptions of Sato’s unpatriotic house decor, declaring that he should have burnt the house down as punishment. 

Zuko swallowed his bite of umeboshi. “I’m supposed to be stealthy!” he said, jabbing his gilded chopsticks at her to emphasize his point. 

Azula pouted. “That’s boring.”

“No, it’s not!”

“I hope my first mission is more exciting.”

“This was exciting!”

“Maybe Father will let me lead a raid, a real battle worthy of a princess.”

Zuko was flushed an angry red, ready to leap to his feet in defense of his adventure, when he caught the sly look in Azula’s eyes. He sat back and crossed his arms. 

“This was exciting,” he reiterated, grumbling.

Azula mercifully stopped antagonizing him, jumping instead to her favorite topic of conversation. “I’ve almost mastered the dragon-hawk maneuver. Father’s going to send us on our seek-and-destroy mission soon. I can feel it.”

Zuko was happy enough with the topic change. The future mission, which their father had been dangling over their heads for years, was something the siblings could discuss endlessly. They enjoyed acting it out in the palace gardens with Mai and Ty Lee, envisioning different Earth Kingdom fortresses Zuko would sneak into to steal information from before Azula destroyed the base. Their enemies would never know the Fire Nation had gained intelligence from the fortress before it was burned to the ground.

Zuko and Azula were going to win their country the war! 

Father was sure of it. 

They were still fantasizing about their future missions when the servants came in to help them get dressed. (After that one time a four-year-old Azula lit her handmaid’s clothes on fire when the woman tried to send her to her own rooms to change, no one had ever dared tell the princess she needed to leave again).

They continued lobbing increasingly outlandish scenarios at one another as they headed towards their father’s receiving room, talking until the courier opened the large double doors and announced them. 

The chamber was long and narrow. Not as large as the Fire Lord’s receiving chamber, or even Cousin Lu Ten’s, but larger than any other room in their family’s section of the palace. The flames separating the royal dais from the rest of the hall, however, were higher than even Azulon’s. 

Despite coming here almost every morning, it was still intimidating. The deep bows. Father, regal and straight-backed and expressionless as he looked them over. Mother, a silent shadow at his side, the consummate helpmate to her princely husband. 

After several tense seconds, Father motioned for them to step forward, and the flames died down to reveal a row of glowing coals. 

“Were you successful last night, Zuko?” 

Mother’s expression turned pinched and angry at the question. She’d protested sending Zuko on his mission, vehemently. He could see the bruise on her cheek, purple and angry from when his father had finally lost his temper. Zuko didn’t understand why she had to keep objecting to his training, why she didn’t want him to excel and serve their nation. 

Why she had to snap at him when he tried to protect her. 

She was scared for him. She didn’t trust in his abilities the way Father did. But she would see now. He could do his job. So she could stop worrying. Stop worrying and fighting with Father and getting hurt. 

Zuko handed over his notes from the night before as well as a map he’d marked up from memory over breakfast, then waited with bated breath. Father perused the documents slowly, nodding occasionally, even almost smiling at one point. When he looked up, his eyes were approving, though all he said was, “You need to work on formatting your reports, Son.”

Zuko flushed, caught somewhere between pleased and embarrassed. 

“Yes, Father,” he bowed. After a moment of silence, wherein Father shuffled through the notes again and Mother reached out to run her fingers over Zuko's phoenix tail, Zuko dared to ask his father what would be done to stop General Sato’s illegal slave trade. 

“I could lead the raid!” Azula volunteered. “We could set all his slave huts on fire!”

“Azula!” Mother snapped. Azula scowled at the reprimand, her small fists clenching at her sides. Zuko shuffled closer to her, pressing their shoulders together in silent comfort. 

Father waved Azula off with an absent flick of his wrist. “Your instincts are good, Azula. But there will be no raid.”

“But—” Zuko stuttered, trying to find the words to voice his protest. 

Cold amber eyes looked up. “But…?” 

Zuko knew that tone, the one that said he was poking a slumbering dragon. But he was a prince. He would not be afraid to ask a question. 

“How are we going to stop the slave trade?”

“We aren’t.”

“But—”

“Enough, Zuko. There are more important uses for this information than freeing Earth Kingdom slaves. General Sato is a high-ranking official with significant influence in the Southern Isles. This,” he waved the papers in Zuko’s face, “will put him firmly in my pocket. Do you understand?”

Zuko swallowed thickly. He didn't want to keep arguing. He didn’t. But Uncle said standing by your convictions was worthy of respect. And Father hadn’t read those letters from that Aiya lady. He didn’t know how disturbingly violent Sato was. So Zuko steeled himself and tried again. 

“But Father, you don’t—”

“I said enough!” his father snarled, punctuating his words with a blast of fire. 

Zuko dove out of the way, yelping as a spark caught on his sleeve, singeing his arm before he managed to extinguish the flame. 

“OZAI!” his mother shouted as she shoved past her husband to kneel at Zuko’s side. 

Azula had scrambled out of the way, watching blank-faced as their mother fretted over the mild burn, as their father continued to glare at the pair on the ground. 

“The boy is a firebender, Ursa. If he doesn’t want to get burned, he’ll learn to block properly.” Then he leveled a dark look at Zuko and commanded, “You won’t dodge me again, do you understand? Or I’ll keep throwing fire at you until you disperse the flames like a true Prince of the Blood.” 

Zuko shuddered, sinking further into his mother’s comforting embrace, but he kept his eyes firmly locked with Ozai’s as he gave his standard response to all of his dad’s demands. 

“Yes, Father.”

+++

Azula spent the next three weeks hurling fireballs at him at every opportunity until he could successfully block on instinct.


	3. 3

Ozai stared at his father, disbelief churning in his gut. 

For a moment he considered obeying the Fire Lord’s order. He could kill his son. The boy showed great promise. He was a talented if not prodigious firebender. Bright and attentive to his studies. Uncanny in his ability to move undetected. Zuko was Ozai’s spitting image, no matter that Ursa wished her old lover had fathered him instead, and his softness could be trained out of him given time. For all that, however, Zuko was not indispensable. Ozai could kill him to appease Azulon's anger. 

But that was only for a moment, then his better sense asserted itself. 

Ozai’s bid for the throne was ambitious, but it was not, he knew, unreasonable. Iroh was without heirs. Worse, he’d displayed despicable frailty when he broke the siege of Ba Sing Se. He’d failed to protect his son, then failed to avenge him. And now their father wished to punish _Ozai_? He whose children lived as shining examples of Fire Nation superiority? 

Lu Ten was dead. And the line of succession after Zuko and Azula was woefully convoluted, which made killing Zuko insane. His death would be a threat to the stability of their nation, the kind of thing that could lead to civil war.

Azulon had never given Ozai his due, but this was beyond the pale. As he looked up at the old man, snarling with anger behind a wall of fire, Ozai knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Fire Lord had lost his mind. Azulon was senile. And Iroh was weak. 

Neither of them was fit to hold the throne. 

It was fortunate Ozai knew a woman with an enthusiasm for botany. Ursa would do anything to protect their boy, even commit treason. 

It seemed he would be getting everything he wanted from this meeting after all. Zuko continued to prove his worth in the most unexpected ways.

+++

Zuko and Azula doubled back after they were dismissed from their audience with the Fire Lord, reaching the spy hole in the antechamber just in time to hear their grandfather order Zuko’s death. They listened with wide-eyed horror as their father fell silent, crackling flames the only sound for several drawn-out seconds.

Then in a clear, strong baritone: “As you will it, Your Majesty.”

Zuko’s heart skipped a beat. His blood rushed from his face so fast he felt dizzy. Slowly, like he was submerged in molasses, he turned to face his sister, finding his distress mirrored in the pallor of her skin, the white-knuckled grip of her fingers on his arm. 

Father wouldn’t…He loved Zuko…He would _never_ …except Grandfather was the Fire Lord. He was to be obeyed, never questioned. Father couldn’t stand against him. _Shouldn’t_. It was right and just and honorable to submit to the Fire Lord. Except…except…

“We have to hide!” Azula hissed, dragging a stumbling Zuko behind her. “Father can’t kill you if he can't find you.” 

Zuko followed her numbly as she led them towards the Old Palace. The area was a beautiful garden now, dotted over with artistically enshrined ruins. But at one point, it had been Fire Lord Sozin’s throne room, before Avatar Roku had attacked Sozin and destroyed the entire building. Just like with the rest of the palace, though, there were catacombs and a number of thin lava tunnels snaking beneath the pristine surface in which two children could safely hide. 

Azula pushed him into a nook in one of the deeper tunnels, then darted back to the surface to get supplies. It took her an hour to return with water and snacks and, most importantly, knives, an hour during which Zuko sat shaking in the dark, too terrified and upset to call even the smallest of flames into his palm. 

They stayed there all night, tense and on edge, flinching at every small noise. But no one came for them. They heard no calls echoing off the narrow stone walls of their subterranean hideaway, no shouts of alarm. When dawn finally broke, Azula dared to venture back into the palace to fetch them breakfast. 

She heard the whispers when she snuck into the kitchens. Fire Lord Azulon had passed during the night. A heart attack, grief over Prince Lu Ten’s death and General Iroh’s shameful weakness. 

Prince Ozai was named his successor. 

Long may he reign.

+++

Scribe Haruto was an old man. He was nearing eleven when Sozin died. He’d seen the Great Gates of Azulon rise in the bay. He’d stood at the docks when the first wave of southern waterbenders was paraded out in chains. He’d marched with great generals—Riku the Impaler and Yua the Thunder of Onju—as they pushed the front line ever deeper into Earth Kingdom territory. He’d drafted orders which sent brave young men and women to certain doom, and others which resulted in great victories. And for the last thirty years, he’d worked with the Fire Lord directly, silently observing the viper-mongeese of the high court as he faithfully carried out his office.

He had not drafted the change to Azulon’s will which named Ozai his heir. 

But Haruto couldn’t say anything. Even he, with all his years by Azulon’s side, could not differentiate the writing on that new will from Azulon’s own hand. So he would hold his tongue. He would send an anonymous letter to Prince Iroh and wait for the rightful heir to return home. Only the prince could challenge the usurper. 

For now, he had no choice but to watch as Ozai knelt before the Fire Sages, dressed in mourning white with his two children on either side, Lady Ursa a conspicuous absence on the dais. The golden headpiece in the shape of a flame was lifted high to the setting sun, and beneath the smoke of his father’s burning pyre, it was placed atop Ozai’s head.

Haruto kept his silence. He kept it throughout the ceremony and the banquet that followed, through the proceeding weeks during which nobles traveled from across the nation to swear fealty. He kept it when Crown Prince Zuko asked his father once, and only once, where his mother was. He kept it when His Majesty blasted fire at his son and the boy dispersed the flames with an all-too-practiced motion. Haruto kept his silence during the long months while he waited for Prince Iroh to return. 

And when the prince finally came home a year after Lu Ten’s death and swore fealty to his younger brother, Haruto knew he would take his silence to his grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No 'Azula always lies' excuse in this AU! It's only a slight change to canon, Zuko sticking around to hear the entire confrontation between Ozai and Azulon, but these small moments cause ripples. 
> 
> Next chapter begins Part II, and we will start to see some major divergences from canon!


	4. Part II: The Violence Which Shapes Us

Zuko had begged his uncle to get him in this meeting of the War Council. He’d been running covert missions for his father in the Home Islands for years. At thirteen, he knew he was ready to take on greater responsibility. But he had to admit that so far the conference was proving as boring as Uncle had predicted. It was all budgeting and supply chains and troop positions, nothing about battle plans or major issues that needed to be addressed. It was information the royal scribes already provided Zuko. 

Then General Tojo stood up, and with the self-satisfied air of a cat-snake, proposed a suicide mission: Send in the 41st Division as a distraction, and when the Earth Kingdom army was busy crushing them, a more advanced squadron of Fire Nation soldiers could ambush the enemy. 

Tojo was a tall, thin man with a long, thin gray mustache and goatee to match. His hollow cheeks and prominent wrinkles highlighted the gloating smile on his thin lips as he finished his proposal with, “What better to use as bait than fresh meat?” 

Zuko had heard enough. The 41st Division was composed entirely of new recruits, young men and women with no active combat experience. Those soldiers loved their country. Sacrificing them was a betrayal, and Zuko shouted as much. 

Father’s wall of fire flared, but he didn’t say anything as General Tojo turned to look down his nose at Zuko with narrow, condescending eyes. 

“You are a boy. You know nothing of the realities of war. So I suggest you sit down and remain silent, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko would think later that he should’ve heeded the man’s thinly veiled command. But righteous anger burned too hot in his veins, egged on by the energy in the ever-growing wall of fire concealing his father. 

“I know enough to call this a betrayal! You would stab the defenders of our country in their backs! It’s a cowardly plan. And dishonorable.”

“Are you challenging my honor, boy?” Tojo sneered, stepping close so he loomed over Zuko.

Zuko squared his shoulders and scowled back, refusing to back down. “Your plan is wrong. If this is what you call honor, then yes, I am!”

“Then I accept,” Tojo snarled, baring his teeth like an enraged leopard-stag. “An Agni Kai. Tomorrow at high noon.” 

Zuko blinked, taken aback by the sudden escalation from heated words to a formal challenge. No matter what Tojo tried to imply, Zuko had not issued the challenge first. And he didn’t have to accept it now. High ranking general or not, Tojo had no legal right to challenge a Royal of the Blood, especially not to a fire duel at _high noon_. At that time of day, death was a viable route to victory. But if Zuko declined, he as good as admitted he did not have the experience to sit in on War Council meetings, and the 41st Division would die. 

He could see it in the general’s eyes. The man expected him to back down, like a chastised child forced to sit in the corner. But Zuko refused to give him the satisfaction. 

He clenched his jaw, tilted his chin up and glared. “I’m not afraid to face you. I accept.”

An expression of abject shock flashed over General Tojo’s face before it smoothed out. He nodded tersely and stepped back, and only then did Zuko’s father speak up. 

“General Tojo, your challenge has been issued and accepted before the witnesses of this chamber. You will duel Prince Zuko in the High Court Arena tomorrow at high noon.” He paused, allowing his formal words to settle heavy over the room. “Now, this meeting is adjoined. I would speak to my son _alone_.”

Zuko’s heart skipped a beat. He waited anxiously for the chamber to clear, accepting a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder from his uncle with a tight smile. When he was alone with his father, he moved to kneel before the throne. 

The dark wood floor was hard and unforgiving beneath his knees. He ached to shift, to relieve some of the steadily building pressure against his bony legs, to relax the stiffening muscles in his back. But he refused to show his father such blatant disrespect. Zuko kept his head bowed until the wall of fire dimmed to a line of glowing coals, and only then did he look up. 

Father motioned for him to stand, but aside from that one small motion, the Fire Lord remained as still as the golden statues guarding the palace gates. 

“Did your uncle neglect to tell you that you were to remain silent?” 

“He did, but—” 

“And yet you chose to speak out nonetheless,” Father said almost musingly. 

“I had to! That plan was wrong! It was a—a betrayal!” 

“A betrayal? You truly think so?” Father asked, still in that softly musing tone. 

Zuko answered, more hesitantly this time but still with resolve. “Those soldiers are loyal. It’s our job to protect our people, especially those we send out to fight for us. We shouldn’t accept lost lives as commonplace. None of our people should be cannon fodder.”

“And so you chose to shout at a senior general in my war room.” 

Zuko blanched at that cold assessment. “I—I couldn’t let—He was _dishonorable_.” 

“And you were disrespectful.” 

“But—” 

“Quiet!” Father snapped, blasting a stream of fire at his son to accompany the command. 

Zuko blocked it, the heat rushing past him like he'd stepped between two bonfires before dissipating with a hiss. 

He dropped back to his knees, head bowed. 

“I’m going to tell you something, Zuko, and I expect you to learn this lesson well: _idealism is for peasants_. You are a Prince of the Blood. Save your lofty morals and pretty words for speeches. Your decisions should be based on logic. Leaders do whatever it takes to achieve their goals. Do you understand?” 

Zuko kept his head lowered but lifted his eyes to meet his father's predatory amber gaze. 

“Yes, Father.” 

His obedience was rewarded with a satisfied nod. “You will fight your Agni Kai tomorrow at high noon.” 

“Yes, Father.” 

“You will not lose.” 

“Yes, Father,” Zuko said, determination returning to his gold-bright eyes. 

“And when you win Zuko… Crown Prince Zuko… you will show General Tojo no mercy.” 

Zuko’s breath caught in his throat. “You want me to finish him?” 

“Yes.” 

“But he’s one of your top generals!” 

“And you are royalty!” Father hissed, the fires in the room blazing with his sudden temper. “Tomorrow you will remind everyone what happens to those who have the _audacity_ to challenge my line, no matter their rank! Do you understand?” 

“Yes, Father,” Zuko clenched his suddenly trembling hands into fists and bowed his head low. “I…will show no mercy.” 

Ozai relaxed back and the flames simmered down with him. He eyed his son contemplatively. The boy was just beginning to show fledgling signs of manhood in the cut of his jaw and width of his shoulders, but he had a long way to go. It was in the way he walked, the earnestness with which he tried to appeal to people’s better natures. Zuko had spent his entire life pampered in the finery of the palace. He lacked the predator instincts which came so naturally to his younger sister. Only life could fix that character defect. 

“General Tojo wasn’t wrong,” he said after several minutes of silence, back to that softly musing tone. “You do need more experience.”

“Father?”

“You have been too sheltered in the palace. It’s left you…soft. You lack the resolve to make hard decisions. Combat will change that.”

Zuko’s breath caught. For one horrifying second he thought…

“You leave for Pohuai Stonghold in a month. I am going to give you command over a squadron of Yuyan archers.” 

But no, of course he wasn’t being assigned to the 41st. Father despised weakness, but he loved Zuko. He always gave Zuko opportunities to improve when he failed.

“I trust, Son, that you will uphold the honor of your blood in this new position. You won’t disappoint me, will you?”

There was only one possible answer to that question. “I promise, Father.”

“Good, then you are dismissed.”

Zuko bowed deeply one final time, then turned and left.

+++

There was not an empty seat in the arena the next day. Nobles and wealthy merchants and high-ranking military men and women were dressed to the nines, silks and jewels glittering beneath the midday sun. Those who didn’t warrant a chair were crammed in shoulder to shoulder along the stairs. Every servant with an excuse to be there stood loitering in the galley, hoping their superiors would be too distracted to kick them out. 

Zuko tried to tune out the roaring crowd as the traditional gold armbands were slipped over his biceps by a stoic manservant. 

Azula sat in the corner of the dressing pavilion observing him with a cold expression. She’d nearly lit him on fire herself when she heard he’d gotten himself backed into accepting a high noon Agni Kai. Zuko hadn’t known her vocabulary was so expansive. He couldn’t imagine where she’d learned some of those insults—knowing her, she probably thought them up herself. 

But despite her vitriol, she hadn’t left his side since.

They’d spent hours working on his strategy, digging through transcripts of the general’s past Agni Kais and practicing moves Azula thought would prove particularly effective. 

Uncle had mostly counseled him not to overcomplicate things when he’d found them later that afternoon, then forced Zuko to sit down and eat a large supper. And he was still insisting Zuko _remember his basics_ now. 

Zuko was ready for this whole ordeal to be over, so it was a relief when he spotted Fire Sage Kazuto standing in the doorway, red shawl in hand. 

“It is time, Your Highness.”

Uncle squeezed his shoulder one last time and left to sit in the royal box. Azula looked at him, sharp and frigid as an ice dagger. 

“Don’t die, Dum-Dum.”

Always with the uplifting speeches, his sister. 

And because Zuko was equally awful with emotional moments, he said, “You’ll convince Father to let you come to Pohuai Stronghold, right? After, I mean…” He gestured helplessly towards the dueling platform. 

“I suppose I will…if you win, that is,” Azula bartered with a perfectly unconcerned smirk.

He gave her one jerky nod to accept her terms, which she returned with a far more graceful incline of her head. And then he was alone with the fire sage. 

Zuko hadn’t realized how muffled sound was in the dressing pavilion. Or maybe it was the sight of him stepping through the red cloth door which set the crowd to screaming their support. The noise buffeted him with a tangible pressure, raising the fine hairs on his arms and neck like he’d stepped into a freezer box instead of the hot summer sun. He could feel thousands of eyes riveted on his form, a sensation he’d only ever felt at his grandfather’s funeral. And even then he hadn’t garnered this much attention. 

_You are a Prince of the Blood, Zuzu_ , Azula’s voice chided him with a derisive lilt. 

He lifted his head and marched, straight-backed, up the smooth stone steps of the dueling platform. There was a medic at each end. And a Fire Sage—to bless their spirits should things turn too dire for the medics to be of use. 

Zuko bowed to his father high in the royal box, flame over fist, then turned and knelt on the eastern end of the platform, leaving his back exposed to his opponent. Sage Kazuto draped the red shawl over his shoulders and began to lead Zuko through a private entreaty to Agni. Prayers for strength in his convictions, for the courage to fight for his honor, and for bright fire to satisfy Agni’s justice. Zuko was halfway through the traditional rights when the noise of the crowd shot up several decibels.

General Tojo had entered the arena. 

Zuko tensed against the urge to turn around. He’d been warned against turning his back on an enemy his entire life, but an Agni Kai was different, sacred. Rising before all of the rights had been observed was tantamount to admitting disgrace. _I cannot withstand Agni’s judgment_ , it said, _so I cower from his light_. 

So Zuko waited as first his father and then the sages addressed the crowd. General Tojo was acknowledged as the challenger, he whose honor had been slighted, though the specifics of the incident were not voiced. Azula was sure Father would spread the story around after Zuko had won and been judged righteous by Agni—let their nation see the royal family as defenders of their people. 

Zuko swelled with pride at the idea of that descriptor: defender. But a quieter part, one carefully tucked away in the shadows of his mind, wondered why, if his actions were honorable and advantageous, his father had been so displeased. But maybe the only advantage lay in smiting General Tojo with Agni’s blessing. 

The sun was beating hot now, creeping up by degrees with every passing minute. As it reached its zenith, the sages finished their portion of the ritual. 

Agni had been invoked. 

Zuko stood at the sound of the gong, twisting to face General Tojo in one smooth motion. The red shawl fell from his shoulders, fluttering like a flame in the wind. 

Tojo’s stance was firm but relaxed. His frame was wiry and strong, fit despite his advanced age. The barest hint of a smirk sat on his thin lips as he let his eyes rove over Zuko’s skinny chest, mocking the boy without words. 

Zuko scowled and threw the first flame. 

But Tojo was a master. He blocked each of Zuko’s attacks with ease, knocking every blast aside and returning fire without shifting his rooted stance. The longer this continued, the more frustrated Zuko grew. His fire burned hotter, each blow more explosive than the last, but it was becoming apparent that the young prince was no match for the experienced general from a distance. The knowledge seared into Zuko’s brain like smelted iron. He charged forward with an angry scream, leaped into the air in an uncontrolled rage, arms stretched high overhead, ready to release a torrent of flame from on high…

And was promptly knocked on his back. 

Zuko laid there, panting. Tojo was walking towards him, a leisurely, confident stroll, so sure of victory that he felt no rush to deliver the finishing blow. He pulled his arm back, fist clenched. Zuko could see that same, self-assured smirk still sitting on the man’s face.

 _Come on Zuzu, you wanted him close_ , Azula’s voice needled his mind. And he could suddenly see it: Tojo’s stance was sloppy, shifted lazily forward. The general was counting his chicken-turkeys before they hatched, or however that saying went. In his confidence, he’d left himself open to attack. 

A fresh wave of determination filled Zuko’s chest. Azula had been drilling him on this move for months, insisting that he learn to bend with his feet if he insisted on carrying swords. 

He rocked back onto his shoulders and kicked out. Fire spilled from Zuko’s feet as he spun up to land nimbly on his toes, daggers of condensed fire springing to life in his palms. 

Tojo stumbled back with a cry of pain, surprised and off-balance. A raw burn ate at the flesh of his right shoulder. He clutched at it, staring at the advancing prince with wide eyes. 

Zuko was quick to press his advantage. In close quarters, he was the superior fighter. He lashed out, swift and agile, and the old man struggled to avoid every dangerous hit. But Zuko knew this game. He may not have been a prodigy at firebending like his sister, but his dual swords were an extension of himself. And the fire daggers weren’t his swords, but they were close enough. He moved his right arm for a lethal strike while simultaneously bringing his left down for a non-fatal attack. And Tojo swerved just as predicted into Zuko’s left arm, taking the hit to his hip to avoid the cut aimed at his neck. 

The general cursed, tripping back in retreat as his leg gave out on him. Zuko kicked him square in the chest. And now it was Tojo on his back. A deep burn marring his right shoulder, smaller burns blistering across his bare abdomen. He struggled to regain his feet, but his leg was useless, his arm similarly compromised. 

And Zuko knew this was it. _Finish him_ , his father had commanded. _Show no mercy._ He stared at the old man, blood roaring his ears. He knew what his father wanted, but he couldn’t help looking at the royal box, hoping somehow that the Fire Lord would call him off, that his father would be satisfied with just this. 

But Ozai did not grant him absolution. He stared at Zuko, cold, waiting, lifted a single eyebrow as if to say, _You know your orders._

Zuko swallowed thickly. The fire dagger flickered in his hand. He sucked in a deep breath, then another. His vision tunneled. Wiry gray curls, drooping skin, ribs visible. Zuko thrust his fiery knife straight into the old man’s heart.

+++

Zuko managed to hold his stomach until he was alone. Which of course meant Azula would find him slumped over the chamber pot, a few pitiful tears leaking out of his eyes.

She leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms and a superior expression. “Was it that hard for you?” 

He fixed his gaze on the wall behind her, unable to maintain eye contact while he quietly admitted that yes, it really was that hard for him to kill General Tojo (murder, his mind whispered, you murdered him in cold blood). 

“But you still did it,” she more stated than asked. 

He stared steadily back at her. _I am his loyal son_ , his eyes said. 

She nodded slowly, her own amber eyes shining with understanding. The expressions on the faces of the nobles had run the gamut from fear to respect to glee to stoic blankness. Father had seemed proud, in that mostly inscrutable way of his. Uncle...Uncle had looked sad. But Zuko stared at Azula and he knew that even if this kind of violence didn’t turn her stomach the way it did his, she understood. 

_I am your loyal child. Did I make you proud?_

Zuko wondered if either of them had ever gotten a definitive ‘yes’ back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have the first major canon divergence. Poor Zuko! And the sad thing is, as is sometimes the case with abusive parents, Ozai probably legitimately thinks he is being a good father here.


End file.
